Chrno Crusade: Chronicles of Mort
by Otaku42
Summary: Original Character fic. Elijah Mort works as an exorcist for hire, taking on any odd job to eat. Now that he's been paired up with a certain nun and demon, they'll have to work together to prevent New York from becoming Hell on Earth. I return reviews!
1. Verse One

Elijah hated Sundays.The demon stared down over him, the blood still dribbling from its fangs. One its many claws was embedded deep in his chest, and the splintered floor beneath him offered no comfort either. This was supposed to have been a routine exorcism- get in, go holy, get out. But this one refused to be a good little hell-bound freak. And now Elijah Mort was about to get his face eaten off by this hideous... _thing_. Mort sighed. He hated Sundays.

Elijah only had one hand free. The other was preoccupied holding the demon from getting any closer, its own clawed hand swiping wildly at him. Carefully, Elijah moved his right hand. A single movement out of place, now, and it was all over. The demon was panting now, so close to a good night's dinner, the stench nearly as ungodly as the beast itself. Patiently, Elijah's fingers crept to the holster on his side. It overturned the black coattail, fumbled around for the handle, crept onto the trigger and-

Click.

The demon's pinhole eyes were drawn to the pistol, its panting now halted by surprise. It relaxed, just for a second, and Elijah Mort grinned.

BANG.

The demon flew backward, stabilizing itself on its third and fourth legs, clutching its face and shrieking. Blue light now seeped from the wound, the same blue light that crept around the barrel of the exorcist's gun in strange and foreign patterns.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Elijah fired three more rounds, a blue line down the demon's ash body. It cried out in one last howl of pain, and slumped over in defeat, crumpling into dust. Elijah watched for a minute, almost enjoying the melodramatic spectacle. Finally, he scooped up some of the dust, and tossed it back onto the demon.

"..._Viyitgadal viyitgadash sh'mei ra'aba._.. " After finishing the mock service, Elijah picked up his hat, and scooped some more of the ash into a thin vial. After all, you needed proof to collect the rewards, right? As he walked down the staircase, he rehid his pistol. For now, its job was done. And for now, Rabbi Elijah Mort would live another day to eat.


	2. Verse Two

Elijah stepped out again into the cobbled streets. The City That Never Slept was apparently not involved with this part of town. The rabbi grinned, and hoped that a tumbleweed would roll through, just for the hell of it. He pulled out the vial of ash, and held it up to the moon. The crisp blue light sifted through the glass, and revealed the Hebrew symbols, still drifting like smoke from the ashes.

Elijah could vaguely remember the first time he had seen a demon. A claw. A piercing scream, from who or what he couldn't recall. And then a flash. A loud thunderclap, right behind him. The demon falling to its knees. Howling. More thunderclaps. Ash. Turning around, and a man stood there. He couldn't remember if he thanked him or not. Maybe he fell on his knees and thanked God for being alive. Maybe he just ran away.

_God._ Now there was something Elijah hadn't had to think about in a long time. Kinda funny, now that he considered it. Elijah tried a chuckle or two, to see if that would work. He sighed, and headed back towards the synagogue. There was that fee still.

He wondered if the other orders had it this bad. The Catholics, well, they were a big enough religion, they had to have boarding and food. But that was just how it was, wasn't it? There were other orders, though, right? Of course. Had to be. The idea of convents never really caught on big in Judaism, so the members were more or less on their own. At least they got paid decently.

"Mommy, there's a strange man outside."

Elijah looked up. There was a small child, gazing curiously out of his window. Elijah took his hat off, smiled politely, and waved. The mother rushed to the child's side, pulling him away.

"Sweetie, don't talk to strangers. Especially one of _them_." She waited for a few minutes, to make sure the Jew didn't try anything suspicious.

Elijah sighed again. He grinned once more, a little more forced this time.

"How do you do? My name is Elijah, I'm just making my way home."

Glare.

"...I'm a rabbi, down at the synagogue over that way." He pointed awkwardly, now even shuffling his feet.

Glare.

"...Well, I'll be off. Nice meeting you." Elijah replaced his hat and began walking away.

Glare. Glare. Glare.

As soon as the mother descended back into her home, Elijah broke into a run. There were just some things worse than hellspawn.


	3. Verse Three

By now Elijah had left the mother and child far behind, and skidded into another alleyway. He slowed down, almost out of breath. He fell back against a brick wall, and gazed up into the sky. No stars could be seen, but that only made the moon seem that much more important. It grinned down with an almost arrogantly bright orange tone, and filled the sky to a greater degree than usual. Indeed, its massive look made it appear as if it were a fat man, shoving the heavens out of the way to gorge itself at a celestial buffet.

Mort watched the moon for some time. The city surrounded him with the usual sounds; the hurried footsteps on cobblestone, a glint of metal in the dark, a pool of blood somewhere, and the howling of the dogs. Cars were rarely heard at this hour, but at least it wasn't as quiet anymore. Mort took out his pistol, and playfully curled it over in his hands. The symbols carved into it flashed and shimmered in the obese moonlight, blue lines spiraling down the barrel, and inwards.

Dreamily, he pretended he was surrounded by demons. He took the pistol and danced around in a circle, firing dramatically at make-believe targets. For a second, he became lost in the fantasy, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

A flock of pigeons nearby fluttered off, a spare feather landing on Mort's hat. He picked it off, and turned it over, watching as it reflected in the moonlight. Then, he heard the growling. A low, raspy snarl, echoing in the alleyway, bouncing between the two buildings, through the black fire escapes above, and into the moon's ears.

Elijah whipped around, and was met by two sharp red slits. Beside them, two more slits appeared, and more, more of these appeared. Some were bigger, some smaller, all glowing a mortal red, begging for blood. Elijah eased backwards to flee, but still more slits appeared behind him. Now out of the shadows came features. Only little hints, though, a claw here, a fang there, but that only suggested far worse things to the imagination. The rabbi took his pistol and waved it around tentatively. He was surrounded by demons. His fantasy was now a horrid reality.


	4. Verse Four

Elijah's eyes darted back and forth. The horde of demons was as thick now as the black heavens above, their own beady eyes watching his every move. Some held back the wilder ones, as they drooled and slobbered over the dusty cobblestone road. In one hand Elijah gripped his pistol, the trigger screaming out to be pulled. A thousand red eyes watched him. A bead of sweat trickled down his face, and past a mad grin. Elijah hated Sundays so very much.

His hands were trembling now. The horde's eyes grew wider, as did their mouths, tongues dripping out and panting. The trigger was screaming louder now, almost moving by itself. The eyes were like blood red moons now, widened so that the veins were bulging. The barrel of the pistol sang in harmony with the trigger, _Do it, Do it, DO IT_. The claws seemed longer now, the fangs much sharper. The begging from his gun throbbed in Elijah's head, beating the insides of his skull and threatening to crack it from the inside. An small, unwise demon leapt out, claws extended and fangs exposed.

His finger slipped...

BANG.

The ash fell like snow.

And the horde descended upon him.


	5. Verse Five

This was not good. Mort gazed lazily at the horde, slithering towards him over the ash that now littered the alleyway. He fumbled around in his coat pocket, but it was no use. He was out of ammo, and out of luck. He shoved his pistol back in its holster and fell on his knees. The horde barely took notice, but even the more intelligent ones wouldn't have thought anything of his kneeled mumbling. If anything, they might have thought _How convenient, a dinner that gave grace for itself!_ The less keen ones would have missed the earth beginning to tremble underneath, but even the most oblivious of demons couldn't have missed the pillar that shot out of the ground- if only because it was right below them.

The pillar began crumbling on its own, bits of granite being torn off and flung every whichway as if an invisible sculptor had gone mad. One knicked a demon between its beady eyes and crashed it into the brick wall behind it. The others hissed with delight, until it occurred to them too. The shards of granite grew less and less in number, as the invisible sculptor wore itself out. Now, where the pillar had risen, there was a stone man. It eclipsed the obese moon at seven feet, and with the same color shone two hollowed eyes, lit by a hidden flame. Above its creased brow were three sharp, angular Hebrew characters, spelling out the phrase _emet_- Truth.

Elijah took a step backward, partly to admire the golem he had summoned, and partly in surprise and fear. This fear was quickly removed, and excitement swept over Mort's face.

"I suppose I need to name you now," the rabbi mused. "Well, I only recently started naming my golems, so, hm, let's see…" The horde now flickered back and forth between the golem and its creator as he counted on his fingers and muttered. "…Jacob, Samson, Moses, Abraham, Adam…then there was Mordecai, Noah, and Judas, on a lark." He turned around to face his bloodthirsty yet captive audience. "Quite frankly, I'm sick of biblical names. They carry too much weight, you know what I mean?" He received blank red-eyed stares. "I guess not," he shrugged, then swung around to the golem. "What you need is something to reflect your purpose, something, something simple, and easy, easy to recall, and shows your obedience." The rabbi leaned against the golem while he stroked his chin, in deep thought. Finally, he stepped forward to announce his decision.

"I've got it!" he declared. "Your name from now on is… _Spot_." He attempted to slap the golem's shoulder for congratulations, but had to settle for the wrist. "You got that, Spot?" The golem glanced at Elijah for a split-second, then shook its head back and forth, creating a light shower of gravel; a yes. "Good boy!" Elijah hustled up the golem's spine and rested on its shoulder, pointing towards the horde. "Now, then Spot- _fetch_."


	6. Verse Six

It wasn't until later that morning that Mort returned to the office. Jane was at her usual spot, beating the rusted typewriter with the usual reports she had to file. Except for the rythymic typing, the cramped room was quiet. Papers filled every crack, even sticking out of the walls, some for exorcists that had died during the Civil War. Somewhere beyond the avalanche of papers was a door, with a massive shadow being lobbed through it. The shadow enveloped Jane, and for a second, the only sound in the room was the fan overhead, blending the morning dawn into a frappe.

Jane leaned on a paper stack armrest to see out of the door. Whatever it was, it was monstrous. She grinned. Mort. She heard him muttering behind the door-

"Alright, good boy, good boy, stay, stay, _heel._ Heel, now. OK, now, see the shiny thing? Take the shiny thing and open the- no, not like that-"

Jane's view of Mort became a little clearer. For one, the door was now out of the way, and off of its hinges. Clutching onto it was a golem, gripping it by the doorknob. On its left shoulder, Mort sat, shaking his head in embarrassment.

"I see you brought back a friend."

Mort hopped down and slid onto a paper stack. He waved his hand casually at the golem, who proceeded to toss the door aside lightly. The secretary flinched as she heard the door collide with a fruit stand.

"They just don't make them like they used to, eh?" Mort remarked, leaning against another paper stack.

"Hardly," Jane turned to face the golem again. "Hello, Judas sweetie, didja miss me?"

"Hate to break it to you, but that's not Judas. He got lost in that job on the cruiser."

"Oh? So, then, pumpkin, what's your name?"

"Spot."

She glanced again, sizing up Spot. Even with the door gone, she still couldn't see his head.

"_Spot._ I figured you'd get tired of the biblical names sooner or later, but... Anyways, you and your clay dog have a job to do."

Jane pulled out a paper from underneath Elijah's foot, and handed it to him.

"Jodie Wilson. Her father owns a big jazz club, downtown, called The Li'l Dipper. She got kidnapped just a few hours ago, and now she's being held ransom."

"So how did we get pulled into this?"

"Her father's desperate. He doesn't care who it is, he just wants her back before she's joined the choir invisble."

"Any idea who it is?"

"I'll give you a hint. Big white robes, pointed hoods, not too fond of us or the client."

"Ah. I'll be going, then."

"You better run. The address is on the paper." Mort scanned the sheet one last time, then folded it and put it back in his pocket. He fumbled through the stacks to find another clip for the pistol, then hopped back onto Spot. "Have fun, Spot. You be a good boy."

Mort looked out into the city. Where the fruit stand used to be, there was a small crowd gathering. He stood up on Spot's shoulders, and pointed off towards the skyline.

"Alright, Spot, there's our target. Now, let's _move_!" Elijah held on for dear life as Spot began pounding on all fours through the streets, just as the rest of the world was waking up. Today was going to be a good day.


	7. Verse Seven

"Jodie Wilson. Age 19, the black daughter of the owner of a local jazz club, named The Li'l Dipper."

Sister Kate re-examined the folder on her desk. A photo showed the girl hugging her father, at the grand opening just three months before. She was well-dressed, and was grinning from ear to ear with joy.

"And now she's been taken hostage?"

"Yes, apparently some KKK members were protesting outside her house, and dragged her off when she stepped outside." Kate looked up again to see Rosette's face, also studying the folder with crisp blue eyes. She grinned.

"Alright, then, just leave it to us. We'll get her back, safe and sound."

"I'm sure you will. Chrono, please take care of Rosette. We don't want any _more _buildings destroyed than necessary."

"WHAT'S THAT S'POSED TO MEAN?!!"

The demon blushed, and watched as the two nuns bickered. He chuckled a bit, and surprised himself. Maybe he was just used to this by now. Rosette was now leaning over the desk, arms waving excitedly. Her pocketwatch dangling lightly, the hands shaving the seconds away. That day, so long ago... That contract... _Time..._

"Um, Rosette..."

"-EVIL PENGUIN! ...Oh, right, yes, Chrono?"

"Um, the job?"

"_Right_!" Rosette slammed her hands on the table and strided towards the door. Chrono hurried after her, grabbing the door just before she shut it. He stuck his head back into the room once more.

"Well, I guess we'll be back." Sister Kate watched amused as the demon politely closed the door. After he left, she stood up, and dusted her gown off. She looked out her window, where she could see all of the convent's grounds. Already, she could see dust clouds being kicked up as Rosette stormed determinedly out into the city- the wrong way, of course, but still determined. She touched her hand to her temple, and recited a small prayer. As much as she wanted Rosette to succeed, she was going to need all of the help she could get.


	8. Verse Eight

"Ready or not, Ms. Wilson, here we come." Mort readjusted his hat, and wrapped his legs around Spot's stone pillar of a neck for safety. He waved casually to the owner of the fruit stand Spot had wrecked with the flying door. He turned away, embarrassed. He and the golem were causing more of a disturbance than wanted, and needed to disppear.

"Spot, up, boy, _hyah_!" Mort clicked his heels, and Spot instinctively ran towards the nearest building, past the fruit stand and splintering the door he had flung. It leapt up, and drove its hands into the brick. Mort shook uneasily, now clutching with all four limbs as Spot began his ascent. At first they were only small measures, maybe only a foot or two inbetween, but as the golem gained momentum he flew up the side of the building, launching himself up onto the roof. Mort collapsed onto the comforting granite roof with exhaustion, as Spot sat alongside him with a great thump, staring eagerly like his namesake.

Too tired to think for the moment, Mort watched the clouds sink overhead, twisting them in his mind into familiar shapes. Unfortunately, his imagination was well worn-out at this point, and the fluffy white blobs remained blobs. He tried imagining them talking, anything to get himself re-energized.

_Hello, Mister Mort, sir, how are you?_ One cloud said.

_I'm fine, thanks all the same, Mister Cloud,_ Mort thought back. _How's the Missus Cloud?_

_Oh, terrific as always, Mister Mort,_ Mister Cloud shrugged (There was the imagination coming back, feeling better already). _Don't you have a job to get off to?_

_I suppose, Mister Cloud,_ Mort shrugged himself. _I'm too tired, right now._

_Better hurry. Your competition's getting the better of you, Mister Mort, _Mister Cloud waved goodbye and drifted off.

"...Competition?" Mort said aloud. Then, he heard shouting from the street below.

"Aargh! We're lost _again!" _Mort pulled himself up and laid his head over the edge of the roof so he could watch. There was certainly a commotion, but it was only two people. One of them looked like a nun, though the long revealing slits on either side of her dress made him question just how holy she could be. She was the one who was shouting. Behind her she dragged along a boy, about the same age as her, with a long red coat and... _purple_ hair?

"Kids these days", Mort muttered to himself, then took it back, suddenly feeling very old. He watched the two carefully again. The questionable nun seemed harmless, if a bit ditzy, but something about the boy made him feel... skittish, for a lack of a better word. He turned to Spot, who was now also watching the boy intently. If someone like that set a golem on end, then it had to be significant. Mort climbed back on top of Spot, more cautiously this time.

"OK, boy, down. _Gently_."


	9. Verse Nine

"Aargh! We're lost _again!_" Rosette twirled in the street out of boredom. Chrono sighed.

"You shouldn't have just run off without asking for directions," _like you always do_, Chrono thought to himself.

"Chrono? You okay?" Rosette tilted her head back in mid-spin. Chrono watched her golden hair whip around her face, glinting in the soft morning light.

"Uh-huh. Why'd you ask?"

"You won't stop kicking yourself." Chrono blinked and tried grabbing his foot in a futile attempt to stop it, causing Rosette to double over with laughter. Chrono started laughing as well, until he noticed a sudden shadow overhead. It was right over Rosette, and was headed right for her.

"ROSETTE!" Chrono dashed over to the nun, knocking her out of the way as the shadow collided with the pavement.

SLAM.

Chrono looked behind his shoulder to see the behemoth shadow, blotting out the sun like nothing else, eyes that glowed a horrid red. There appeared to be a lump on the behemoth's back, whispering weakly, "I said _gently_." The lump eased itself off the behemoth with a solid thump, and Chrono turned his attention again to Rosette. She was alright, if a bit shaken. She was breathing heavily, and the pocket-watch around her neck rose and fell with her. Chrono shook his head, reminding himself of the contract. No matter what, the two were bound now, and he could never let her get hurt. Rosette opened her eyes slowly, the pocket-watch resting normally as she calmed down. Chrono let out a quick sigh of relief.

"What are you looking at,_ Chrono_?" Chrono glanced up to see Rosette's face, even redder than his and wearing a very bemused look. He realized in his heroic save he was leaning over her, and blushed further. Rosette glared further.

"Um… your pocket-watch?" Chrono stuck his arm behind his had in embarrassment, and lost his balance. Now he was right up against Rosette on the street.

"Oh, my _pocket-watch_, huh?"

WHAM.

Chrono went flying past Mort and Spot and flew into the unfortunate fruit stand owner from before. He stood, and picked up the boy.

"You all right, there?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's, it's fine. Happens all the time." Mort watched as the boy shambled back over to the suggestively-dressed nun. He turned to Spot, who sat eagerly in the huge crater he had made.

"Bad Spot, _bad. _You do _not_ just leap off of buildings, especially on top of a lady, however revealing her dress may be. If I was younger, I might be into that sort of thing, but my point is _bad_ golem, bad-"

"-Excuse me?" Mort faced the nun, hands on her hips. Mort stepped backward, unsure why. He straightened his black hat and suit casually.

"Er, sorry about the golem, miss, hope he didn't hurt you any."

"Golem?" The nun examined Spot curiously, its eyes now tinted a friendly yellow. The boy also looked at it, though a bit uneasily.

"Yes, he's housebroken, though."

"I need directions." The nun handed her a small slip of paper, identical to the one he had received. He glanced at the address, and realized it was the same as the one he had been given. He blinked, and then noticed the holster strap on the nun's belt, carrying two loaded pistols. So, this was no ordinary nun… Mort grinned. He lifted off his hat, his short black accompanied by two friendly green eyes.

"Certainly, miss, uh- well, miss. You were headed the right way, just take a left around the next corner and straight on. It's the third building on the right, can't miss it."

He handed the paper back to the nun, and his gaze met with the boy. The eyes were unnaturally sharp, and Mort glanced back with eyes equally as intense. If he was right, then that boy must be…No, couldn't be. Mort smiled even wider. The nun stared blankly at her slip of paper, then grabbed the boy by the hand.

"Thanks for everything, mister! Chrono, let's move!" The demon attempted to protest, but it was useless. Within minutes, the two were gone, as if they'd have never arrived. Mort continued grinning, and put his hat back on. Of course he gave them the wrong directions- no way in hell they were stealing his reward. He hopped back on Spot, and clicked his heels.

"Alright, boy, let's go get that reward!" As Spot began racing on the street again, Mort looked back where the odd pair had run off. He felt bad about it but, hey, he had to eat, right? Listening to his stomach grumble, Mort turned back just long enough to grab an apple from the fruit stand, before tossing back his change. Stunned by all of the events, the stand owner slowly picked up the coins off the street before being knocked in the head with an apple core.


	10. Verse Ten

"He seemed nice." Rosette huffed as she ran. Behind her hurried Chrono, panting and wheezing.

"Perhaps, but, something seemed a little odd about him." The demon wheezed. He was badly out of shape, and barely able to keep up with the energetic nun.

"Aw, c'mon, Chrono, you just gotta trust people more. Just 'cause a guy looks weird doesn't mean he's bad." Rosette's eyes darted back and forth. They had to be close soon. The guy did look pretty weird with that overcoat, but otherwise he seemed pretty normal. Well, normal was relative for a girl who ran out in a habit with a holy machine gun every day… Dammit, where _was_ that house? Rosette ran through the directions in her head. Take a left at the corner, then straight on... Rosette halted abruptly, and Chrono crashed into her again. He glanced over her shoulder to see a bustling pier. A massive steel ship had docked, and there were men everywhere hauling cargo off of it.

"There's no house here." Rosette stated matter-of-factly. She just stared at the pier, as her face grew redder. Chrono slowly backed away- he had seen this before. Rosette shook and twitched. In between gritted teeth, she whispered, "That… little… _prick!_" Finally she screeched and began running back. The commotion surprised the workers, and the sound of Chrono and Rosette's running was accompanied by the splashing of men falling overboard.

"Well, they seemed nice." Mort shouted to Spot as he stomped through the streets. Mort almost felt bad for the two kids- almost. But, that girl had to be with the Magdalene Order- unless there was some other organization that sent nuns out with holy hand grenades. And if that kid with her was who he suspected, he couldn't feel too bad for them- the game was still pretty even. Mort laughed. This was getting pretty interesting.

The Magdalene Order- a big-time organization, for sure. But their line of work was more on the lines of demons and suchlike- the KKK were definitely hellish, but not literally. This was something more suited for, well, normal people- that was it. It was ordinary. Sad, but ordinary. This didn't reek of Hell, just New York- though, in truth, Mort sometimes had a tough time telling them apart. But obviously something had caused the Order to get involved- slow day at the office? No, much bigger than that…

Mort arrived at the house and pressed himself to the side. Cautiously he leaned over to peek around the corner. There were two men on the front steps, chatting and laughing at some crude joke. One of them had whisky on his breath, slapping the other on the back heartily. They were dressed not in their iconic white hoods, but in normal street clothes, crumpled and ill-fitting. This couldn't be easier. Mort removed his hat and strode out in front of the guards.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I'm Mort, I'm here to see the, er, thing with Miss Wilson." Silence fell as the two men stared into space, until the drunk grunted approvingly. Mort cautiously took a few steps closer, until the drunk squinted at him with one hazy eye.

"How come I never seen you 'round here afore?" Mort took a step back to avoid the full stench, and made a flashy smile.

"Oh, I'm a new member. I just came to here, to, uh, to watch and learn from the masters. Well, it sounds like they're about to get started, so I'll see you two later. Enjoy your booze!" Mort hurried past them and slammed the rusted door behind them. The two guards stare for several minutes. Finally, the other one spoke.

"Hey, Tony?" The drunk blinked and looked at his pale cousin out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, Ron?"

"How come you didn't stop that guy?" He nervously clawed at his knees while he sat. The drunk leaned back, and propped his arms underneath his head.

"He said he was a new member." Ron laid his hands to his sides helplessly.

"Oh, yeah." He sat still for a few more minutes, and the drunk began snoring. Ron leaned over again. "But, do you think he meant it?" The drunk opened one eye, and spat out into the street.

"Sure he meant it, why else would he say it?"

"I…I dunno, Tony." The drunk smiled, and closed his eyes again.

"Exactly. That's why I'm in charge, and you're not." Ron looked at the street. He twisted his head behind him, and swore he heard gunshots from inside.

"Okay."


	11. Verse Eleven

Mort waltzed into the building, admiring the lovely redecorating that the KKK had done to the place. Half of the walls were covered in splatters of red paint meant to be blood stains- Mort noted the paint can stuffed in a nearby dresser. The usual threatening messages were also drawn on the walls, like a small child had suddenly felt the urge to scribble LONG LIVE THE WHITE MAN before naptime. In fact, it seemed like they were trying too hard to get attention. Certainly the KKK was public, but they'd fallen out of favor in recent years- with good reason. Yet this particular group wanted to shout its hatred to the world, daring anyone to try and make it think rationally and treat other people like human beings.

Mort pulled out the Twin Scrolls, dusting the barrels off for good measure. It had only been a few hours since they had been fired- they were practically malnourished. Mort turned back to look once more out into the sunny streets. The beams shining through the shattered windows gave the only light in the entrance hall. Outside he could hear Spot resting obediently in the alley, scraping his back against the wall while waiting for his master to finish his work. The Twin Scrolls flashed as they adjusted to the darkness, lending their own eerie blue light to the scene.

Mort stepped forward cautiously. The infiltration was the most important part of a rescue mission- if you fumbled it up, not only would the enemy discover your presence, but the hostage was a goner for sure. You had to analyze the base from inside out like the enemy, think like the enemy, live and breathe and sneeze like the enemy- you had to be patient. Patience was the most important part of the most important of a rescue mission. You couldn't just go in, flailing your guns and shouting, "Hey, you! Let her go!" You had to be very patient, and very quiet…

"_PRICK!!!_" Mort heard shuffling from upstairs. _Dammit_, he thought, _she figured it out_. That girl was back and looking for vengeance- God knows how far away she was, but that voice carried for quite the distance. No telling what was in store for him when she caught up. Mort took a step back and grinned maliciously. _All right then, time to do this the old-fashioned way_. With a grand leap, he kicked down the door and flew up the stairs, the Twin Scrolls echoing gloriously through the faux-blood halls.

Meanwhile, Rosette burst ahead as Chrono collapsed behind her. She skidded as she spun around to shout at him.

"Chrono! Dammit, we need to move, or we're gonna lose the prick!" Chrono gasped for air as he tried to respond.

"What about… the hostage-" Already impatient, Rosette began dragging Chrono closer to the building- there were gunshots ringing out even now.

"_Fuggedabout the hostage_! That bastard sent us halfway across the city so he could get the reward for himself!" Ignoring the drunks beside the front entrance, Rosette kicked the door down with a satisfying crash. She nearly dropped Chrono at the site of the room- there was blood _everywhere_! She fought her stomach's urge to empty itself on the crimson-soaked room, and charged in screaming with a machine gun in one hand and petrified Chrono in the other. The asphyxiated boy sputtered as he spoke.

"You mean he's not with the Magdalene Order?" Rosette finally halted entirely, and let go her grip on Chrono's windpipe.

"You thought the Magdalene Order was one of a kind? We weren't even the first…" She turned to listen to the chaos upstairs. "Most likely he's on his own, but there are other groups, some even bigger than our Order." Chrono took the small time to refill his lungs, but just as he finished his first breath, he felt himself being lifted again- this time it felt a lot nicer, though that was probably just the lack of oxygen. Dreamily, he watched as Rosette stormed upstairs, ready to take on anything they could throw at her, ready to go in guns a-blazing, all for the sake of good. She turned the corner as she heard a voice boldly declare, "Hey, you! Let her go!" She sighed, and dropped Chrono again to have a better handle on her gun. Things were going to get interesting…

"Hey, you! Let her go!" Mort shouted at the hooded men surrounding Ms. Wilson as he waved his guns hopelessly. Unfortunately for him, they had pointy weapons, and lots of them. The odds weren't stacked in his favor; they had the hostage, they had more guns, and he was essentially a sitting duck. This was going to be interesting.

A crash from downstairs gave him a small glimpse of hope. Who knew, maybe the police had done their job and were sending a full squad to help assist him. It sounded like that many people down below. The thing was he only could hear one voice- _crap_, he recognized instantly. It was Sister Psycho and her funny-haired punching bag. Well, that might be even better. Mort turned back to the hooded men, and gave a big smile.

"Hey there, everybody. Hope I'm not too late for the ceremony!" He watched behind a forced grin as the Klansmen stared. "I'm Mort, I'm a, er, new member, just filed the paperwork yesterday." He cautiously took a step closer towards the circle. "And who is our, our _subject_ today?" Ms. Wilson watched him with fearful eyes, as she struggled against the wooden chair she was bound to.

"Her name is of no importance…_Mort._" One of the Klansmen answered back, shaking his device dramatically- what looked like a couple of steak knives blended with a whip. All of the Klansmen had strange implements in their hands for whatever sick ceremony they had planned. "All that matters is that the girl is to die for her heinous crimes."

"Heinous, yeah, about that…" Before Mort could finish, Rosette leapt out from behind the corner and fired at the ceiling above them. The Klansmen, distracted by the nun's sudden appearance, turned away from Ms. Wilson. Mort seized the opportunity to grab her and pressed one of the Twin Scrolls against her head.

"Prick! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rosette forced the Klansmen to drop their weapons as she aimed her gun squarely at him. "Collecting my bounty. I need to eat too, if you don't mind." He backed up against the wall, bumping into a large window frame. "In truth, I don't think it's very fair you've got a gun pointed at my head." He whipped out his second Scroll and shot Rosette's gun out of her hands. "Problem solved." While Rosette gripped her hand, he whispered in his hostage's ear.

"Ms. Wilson, I just have one question." The girl's dark brilliant eyes darted back and forth as she tried to take in the whole scene. She was still stuck with a gag in her mouth, and so she could only respond with a frightened, "Mmf?" Mort leaned closer still as he grabbed the chair with both arms.

"Are you afraid of heights?"

"_MMF?!_" Mort picked up Ms. Wilson, chair and all, and in one fell swoop tossed her out the window of the third floor.


End file.
